Chapter IV: Story on the Meanness of the Worthless and the Forbearance of the Worthy

A "sauce-box" his wants to a pious man brought,Who happened himself at the time to have nought.Of money his girdle and hand showed no trace,Or else he'd have thrown it like dust in his face.To the outside the vile-visaged beggar then ran,And to scold and abuse in the street thus began :"Of these silent-tongued scorpions," he shouted, "beware!They are fierce, tearing tigers who woollen clothes wear.With their knees on their bosoms so cat-like, they stay,And spring like a dog if a chance comes their way.Their mart of deceit to the Musjid they brought,For within their own houses less plunder they got.Those who rob caravans are a lion-like race,But the raiment of men in such hands meet disgrace.Black patches and white they together have sewnWith deceit, and in secret their riches have grown.Well done ! barley sellers, exhibiting wheat !World wanderers ! night birds, who men's harvests eat !Take no heed that in worship they're feeble and old,For in dancing and pleasure they're youthful and bold !Like Moses famed rod, they devour a great deal,And then show how distressed and afflicted they feel.They do not abstain and their wisdom is Nil;It's enough that the faith brings of Earth's joys their fill.A cloak like Balil's they draw over their breast,And in garments most costly their women are dress'd.Of the Prophet's great law not a trace do they show,But siestas and morning repasts, they all know.Their stomachs with morsels are stuffed, seized as dues,Like the beggar's patched wallet of seventy hues."I care not to further enlarge on this caseFor to talk of your own disposition is base.The speaker untruthful denounced in this style ;The fault-seeking eye only sees what is vile.When a man has a great many others disgraced ;What cares he when any one's honour's effaced?To the Sheikh a disciple reported the lies ;If the truth you require, such an act was not wise.A foe at my back told my faults and reposed,Much worse is the friend who brought all and disclosed.Some one shot forth an arrow which fell on the road,It hurt not my body nor sorrow bestowed;You lifted it up and came quickly to me,And prick at my ribs with it, heartless and free.The good-natured pietist smilingly said :"It is easy to utter much more on this head!So far but a speck of my sins he can show;But one in a hundred of all that I know.Those faults which to me in suspicion he bound,I myself know for certain within me are found.For the first time this year, he before me appears ;Does he know of my faults during seventy years?Than myself, none knows better the sins I have doneIn this world, but the All-wise, Invisible One."A right thinking man I have never yet seen,Who thought that excepting one fault he was clean.Is my sins' witness he, at the last trumpet's swell ;I fear not the Fire for my footing is well.If my enemy wishes my faults to pourtray,Bid him take, from before me, the copy away.Those persons have been the pure men of God's road,Who themselves as the butt of Calamity showed.Be silent, until they the skin off you tear!For the pious, the burdens of wantons must bear.If a goblet they make from the ashes of men,With stones, the revilers will break it again.